The strange ritual of the morning paper with breakfast. Gore and conflict with eggs.
Took two books out of the Pratt Library yesterday: a pictorial history of vaudeville (suddenly wanting to do some pencil tracings from it) and “The Ends of Performance,” mainly for Mady Schutzman’s essay on buffoonery, which I referred to here a couple of years ago.
The Pratt Library is a beautiful space. The aisle floors of the stacks are semi-opaque (semi-transparent?) glass bricks, the ends of the shelves ornate brass art nouveau designs. I love to be in there.
Moody this morning. Rain sounds on the street. I let the cats lick the egg pan. I’m grateful not to be carrying a bloody compatriot up to the photographers. We’re all in such a state.
Gary comes in: “Girl has her own ideas about life.” He’s wearing just a towel and is steamy from the shower. He tells me he plans to blog about Googoosh, about whom he just watched a film (I watched some of it, but it was rather badly made, so I got impatient with it). Do you know who that is? She was a child star, singer, and movie star in Iran before the revolution. She didn’t leave during the revolution, which silenced her. Her lyrics are strange and compelling.
Here’s a translation I found online of her song, “Pol”:
برای خواب معصومانهء عشق
Baraye khabe masoomaneye eshgh
For innocent sleeping (dream) of love
كمك كن بستری از گل بسازيم
Komak kon bastari az gol besazim
help to make a bed of flower
براي كوچ شب هنگام وحشت
Baraye kouche shab hengame vahshat
For migration of night in horrible time
كمك كن با تن هم پل بسازيم
Komak kon ba tane ham pol besazim
help to build a bridge by our bodies
كمك كن سايه بونی از ترانه
Komak kon sayebooni az tarane
Help to make (prepare) a shelter (awning) of melody (song)
برای خواب ابريشم بسازيم
Baraye khabe abrisham besazim
for sleeping of silk
كمك كن با كلام عاشقانه
Komak kon ba kalame asheghane
Help, by amorous word (speech)
برای زخم شب مرهم بسازيم
Baraye zakhme shab marham besazim
make a salve for wound of night
I hadn’t realized how much vocabulary there was in common between Hindi and Farsi. Just listening sporadically to the film I heard “batchi” (child) and “zindagi” (life).
Oh, but this is Gary’s diary topic, I shouldn’t be stealing it from him. It’s 8:09 am and I should be getting in the shower myself, deciding what to wear on this rainy day, etc.
All I want to do is make things.